


Of Bright Eyes and Blacksmiths

by Natasha_Rostova



Series: Of Bright Eyes [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Mahtan is a good dad, Romance, Slight fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Rostova/pseuds/Natasha_Rostova
Summary: Fëanáro finds his place as Mahtan’s apprentice as he as Nerdanel draw closer.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Of Bright Eyes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1369057
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Of Bright Eyes and Blacksmiths

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t already, please read the previous installments in this series before continuing.

Fëanáro knocks again.

Their home seemed much more intimidating without Nerdanel by his side. Stone walls are covered in crawling ivy and perfectly placed engravings.

Perfectly placed chaos, he supposed. Just like Nerdanel herself.

Although the walls were unkempt, there was something soothing about the vine soaked walls. Something soft and something that felt like a home.

A real home.

Not a marble cage filled with false memories and fake family members.

Fëanáro sighs. 

Now was not the time to concern himself with things like half siblings and empty rooms.

Today he was finally seeing Nerdanel again.

They had written constantly since the ball. Endless letters about their life, what they had for lunch, and what their plans were later. Yet he hadn’t seen her again. The weeks felt like ages.

Oh how he longed to see her again.

So when Nerdanel once again mentioned her Atar’s desire for an apprentice, Fëanáro could not resist asking if he could fill the place.

Of course that wasn’t the only reason. Smith's work has always been so interesting to him. The concept of creating something from nothing. Looking to the future and creating what you see. Creating something only you can invision. 

It would be a better use of his creativity than beating his half siblings in mindless parlor games anyway.

So here he found himself. Standing on Nerdanel's doorstep, meeting her atar. 

But for Smith purposes only. 

Right?

Breaking his thoughts, the front door opens with a loud creak.

"Oh hello!" A maid says, emerging from behind the now open door. Her cheeks are red and her eyes lit with some fake joy. Fëanáro barley restrains his scoff. "You just be Fëanáro!" She's unbelievably chipper, motioning him to come inside. She says something else, yet it all fades as Fëanáro steps into the entryway.

The house is warm. Just. Warm. Soft pastel walls, with flowers painted about. Soft drapes and warm colored wood. 

A staircase sits right in front the entryway, covered in a floral carpet. To the left and right are too large doors, lined with trim that has been engraved with flowers. 

Everything was so warm.

"Mahtan and Nerdanel are waiting in the parlor," The maid's voice shifts through his daydream as she points to the door on the left. "Just make sure you knock dear, I'm off to finish making lunch!" And with that she shuffles away, cheery and light.

Ugh. Rolling his eyes, Fëanáro moves to the parlor door. 

He almost knocks, yet a voice stops him. The voice that had engulfed his thoughts since that day on the beach.

"And my wife and I singing, to our great content, and if ever there were a man happier in his fortunes, I know him not." Nerdanel, sing song and lovely she read, before pausing.

“Oh Atar. I do wish all books had lovely endings.” She sighs. Fëanáro cannot help the sign of his own that follows.

“As do I, they are quite my favorite sort.” Her atar responds, voice deep and warm.

“As they should be. What ending could be better that one where happiness lasts forever?” Nerdanel says, a light laugh littered in her speech. Fëanáro can feel his breath catch in his chest. Lovely.

“Quite.”

They lull into a silence, and Fëanáro cannot resist the urge to knock any longer. If only it were to see Nerdanel again. Red hair and bright green eyes, that had consumed his every thought.

“Enter,” Mahtan responds, and suddenly Fëanáro freezes. 

He was about to meet Nerdanel's atar. Whom he had only seen in drawings. Who would decide if he was worthy of this craft. 

Oh Eru. 

He could decide if Fëanáro was worthy of Nerdanel.

Not that they were courting. 

No. They….

What were they doing?

Oh Eru.

Fëanáro pushes open the door quickly in order to stop the spiral that threatens to drown him.

And there she was. 

Laying across the couch, legs sitting atop the arm rest. Her hair a delightful mess of waves and fire, pinned mindlessly. She wears a light day dress, littered in embroidered wildflowers and ruffled sleeves. Her features are so soft and Fëanáro wishes he was close enough to count all the sunspots that kissed her face.

“Fëanáro.” She sounds almost taken off guard. Eyes wide and lips parted. His chest is tight again.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Instantly Fëanáro regrets saying anything. He sounds like some breathless fool.

“No no, fear not. Nerdanel was just reading to pass the time.” The voice Fëanáro assumes belongs to Mahtan turns his head. “You’re early.”

Mahtan sits on the opposite couch, leaning softly into the corner. He is exactly as Nerdanel drew him. Tall and strong, yet with the kindest eyes. Soft expression framed by fiery hair matching his daughter.

And he had a beard. 

How old was he? Even Fëanáro's own atar had not a beard. And if Finwë was among the first elves to awaken, and if Mahtan was not. How did-

Perhaps a blessing? Nerdanel never stopped talking about the Valar. Perhaps their devotion had granted wisdom only given in ones third life cycle. 

Fëanáro interrupts his own thoughts once again.

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.” Fëanáro tries to gather himself as he speaks. Regaining his posture and stiffens his expression. 

It was so hard to maintain one's composure here. For there seemed to be a thousand unexplained oddities within these walls. Not least of which was the occupants themselves. It was hard to maintain a clear thought. 

It didn't help that every breath he took in this house reminded him of Nerdanel. The whole manor seemed to be filled with her soft elegance and the floral scent that Fëanáro seemed to dream of every night.

It was so hard to ignore.

“Relax won’t you? This isn’t a test.” Mahtan stands, smiling. “I just wanted to meet you formally. Before deciding if we could work together. Relax.” Mahtan lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. Fëanáro only stiffens more, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. 

What was wrong with him today?

"You are indeed a curious one." Mahtan's tone is light and relaxed, Fëanáro sees his eyes flicker to Nerdanel before Mahtan continue, "How about we head downstairs?" 

"Yes that…..that would be suitable." Fëanáro cannot seem to tear his eyes away from Nerdanel, even as he responds to Mahtan.

Mahtan laughs, loud and echoing, yet something about the deep sound was comforting. Like his own Atar. Fëanáro burns again. 

Something about their home. Something. Hurt. Yet soothed at the same time.

“Come! This way my boy.” Mahtan interrupts Fëanáro's thoughts, and leaves the room and signals Fëanáro to follow. 

Fëanáro looks back at Nerdanel, who hasn’t even moved from her spot on the couch. She waves with a slight smile.

“You’ll be great.”

Fëanáro sighs and follows Mahtan out of the parlor.

"Nerdanel tells me you're a gifted visionary." Mahtan says as they walk, "She mentioned how helpful you were helping her work through her sculpting issues." Nerdanel spoke of him to her atar. Fëanáro fights a smile.

"That's very kind of her to say." 

"Creativity is the first step to crafting." Mahtan continues, "If what she says is true, someone with your mind would work well with me." Mahtan smiles at Fëanáro, eyes bright.

"And how can you test someone's mind?" Fëanáro furrows his brow.

"Your response is enough of a test." Mahtan smirks at Fëanáro, mischief written on his face. 

Fëanáro huffs, yet a smile tugs at his lips anyway. 

Mahtan leads them down a large staircase, stone walls surrounding them.

“I am getting too old to work alone," Mahtan says, gesturing to the large workshop doors, "and I find the silent forge to be lonely without someone to share my craft with.” With a smile, Mahtan pushes open the doors.

Fëanáro can instantly feel a pull in his chest.

The room is lit only by the flames of the furnace. Yet the large orange flames light the whole room effortlessly. Perfectly. 

Despite the dark walls and decor, something about the room is effortlessly restful. And Fëanáro feels himself relax.

Tools are maliciously laid on large tables at sit at the edges of the room. Various machinery is also lit by the flames. 

The whole room instantly feels like a puzzle. A homely puzzle. Everything was new, Fëanáro had never been to a place with so many curiosities before. 

It was an endless puzzle that Fëanáro was intent to solve. 

Fëanáro wants to pay attention to Mahtan, he does. Yet he finds himself wandering to the tables, and browsing the puzzle pieces that lay there. 

“Have you any experience?” Mahtan says, and Fëanáro stops his thoughts. Of course he had no experience, that’s why he was here. 

Why would Mahtan ask that? Fëanáro can feel that there is more to the question than appears, and tries to answer as level headed as he can.

“None besides what I can read. I have never even set foot in the forge at home. Atar says it is too dangerous a craft for me.” Fëanáro stares at the endless tools, touching each lightly as he speaks.

Fëanáro can hear Mahtan laugh breathlessly.

“Then why are you here?” Fëanáro turns his head and stares at Mahtan, “If your Atar is against it, and you have no experience, why are you here?” Despite the serious questions, Mahtan’s voice is light, almost humorous. 

Obvious he was here to learn, Fëanáro thinks. He sets down the tool he was inspecting. He was trying to help him. He was trying to assist him. Did all every member of this family have to ask such personal questions? What gave them the right to pry? Fëanáro can feel the flames burn at his vision. 

“Are you challenging me?” Fëanáro furrows his brow. “Prying about my Atar? Prying about my reasoning? Implying I’m ignoring my Atar wishes?”

Mahtan smiles, turning to Fëanáro.

“Yes.” Mahtan’s voice is laced with humor, as if disgracing royalty was a game. Fëanáro stops, mouth agape. At least he knew where Nerdanel inherited her fearless spirit. Before he can even imagine what to say next, Mahtan continues, “I know you have suffered. Struggled even. I know the Valar have not treated you kindly. Or at least, I know you think that way.” Mahtan moves to the furnace, expression serious yet eyes kind. Fëanáro opens his mouth to retaliate, yet no words come. 

“However, your headstrong attitude will get you lost, especially in the Forge. Fire is mastered by none, and he who has not suffered from it, can not even imagine its burn. So do not fool yourself with the intent to master this craft.” Mahtan eyes are lit by the flames, flickers of orange light dancing across his face. Fëanáro wants to feel offended, he does. He the draw of the of Mahtans speech, and flames that flickered, drown out any hurt feelings. “Strive to serve it.” 

“Finding humility in your perfectionism is not something I can teach you. You must teach yourself.” Mahtan stands, walking to Fëanáro, “However, I do think I can teach you a thing or two about Smith work.”

“Really?” Fëanáro's eyes go wide. "I haven't even said anything."

“My house is built on honestly my son. I would not lie. And Your curiosity speaks volumes." Mahtan smiles, "You moved effortlessly and without instruction. You felt at ease as soon as we set ourselves here. I admire that."

I admire that.

No one had ever-

“....thank you." Fëanáro whispers, wonderstruck face betraying his attempt at an indifferent demeanor.

"Why don't you come back tomorrow? I have not set anything up for us to work on. If I am honest, I was unsure if you were even fit for this craft." Mahtan laughs, "However you've proven me wrong, and perhaps tomorrow we could discuss some basics?"

"That sounds...thank you." 

"Why don't you let yourself out? I wish to stay here a little while longer." 

Fëanáro manages a court bow, and quickly rushes out. 

He had a place now.

A place.

Something that was his.

Something he didn't have to share with his ignorant half brothers.

“So?” Nerdanel is waiting at the top of the staircase. Had she been waiting for him? Fëanáro wishes to say something clever, yet he simply furrows his brow and mutters,

“I now understand your whole personality.” Nerdanel laughs breathlessly, before linking their arms. "I am also slightly offended by your telling your Atar everything I have told you." She scoffs.

"Oh please. I have told Atar nothing." She leans on his shoulder. "He can just see you that's all. All I told him was your true identity. Your expression gives you away. You are very easy to read you know."

The walk wordless for a moment, as if breathing in each other’s company as much as they could before meeting the door. 

“Do I get you meet your Atar now?” Nerdanel asks, opening the door for him. Fëanáro laughs loudly. 

“Why are you trying to court me?” Despite the pounding of his heart, and the burning feeling in his chest, Fëanáro smirks at her. Nerdanel laughs, as if she can see right through him.

“Maybe later.” Nerdanel smiles, “I’m far too busy right now.”

And with a wink she closes the door. Right in his face.

**Author's Note:**

> This was definitely much more of a filler piece, and much shorter than its predecessors, but I felt like the story really needed a more quiet moment? Just them kinda settling in to who they are apart, so they can grow better together. The next installment will be much more romantically themed though, I promise. I just wanted to kinda recap their relationship through Fëanáro’s eyes, and kinda give an insight into him a bit more.
> 
> Sorry if this is a bit of a mess. My brain is a bit too scrambled to edit properly


End file.
